Under The Weather
by RosieAnnieUSA
Summary: A ficlet written for a challenge. The Devil's Hole Gang defies expectations.


"Do you see anything?"

Drucker barely glanced at the tense man standing next to him.

"Can't barely see a blasted thing in this weather," Drucker complained. He wiped his palm across the steam that had built up on the window and absent-mindedly dried his hand on his pants leg."It's raining cats and dogs. Nobody's coming out in this."

"Don't be so sure," the other man said. "Your ordinary crook, sure, they'd lay low. But we ain't talkin' ordinary. We're talking the Devil's Hole Gang and they -" a loud, long roll of thunder punctuated his words. Both men waited till it faded away, echoing in the distance. The raindrops came down heavier and fatter, slapping against the window like buckshot.

"We're wasting our time here, Sheriff Thatcher. Not even Heyes and Curry would dare to come out in this kind of storm."

"Uh uh," Thatcher disagreed. "My deputies heard that gang knows all about that big mine payroll of yours, Mr. Drucker. If'n you want to keep your money safe in this here bank until it goes out tomorrow, we all got to stand guard tonight."

"'Course," Thatcher went on, "you don't need to be here your own self. Between me and my two deputies, your money's safe." He stood straighter, pushing his chest out in pride. The battered tin star he wore caught the reflection of the lightning strikes that danced around the building. The stale moist air inside The Bucktown Federal Security Bank tingled with electricity.

Drucker looked over at the two deputies sitting on the railing. The older deputy, Morgenson, was rubbing his low back with both hands. The other, Williams, was coughing loudly and wetly into his handkerchief. Both men straightened up quickly when they saw the mine owner look at them. Drucker tried not to sigh out loud.

"Who are you trying to kid, Sheriff, me or you? Them two are so far under the weather, they're drowning. They couldn't protect a field mouse from a kitten."

"So does that mean you're stayin' here with us then?" Sheriff Thatcher said. He was trying his darndest to be polite, but dang nab it! He was plum sick and tired of having to defend his men from this bean pole with a big wallet. Thatcher had heard it was easier to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. He felt pretty sure Drucker would be rubbing his nose against the pearly gates on judgment day, looking inside and a-wishin' he'd treated people like him and his hard-working deputies a little better when he'd had the chance.

Drucker looked to the heavens for help, but, as usual, found none there. He was left with these three so-called lawmen. This time, a deep, frustrated sigh escaped him. He didn't notice Thatcher's eyes narrow with annoyance.

"I suppose I am," Drucker acknowledged. "Only a fool would go out on a night like this if he didn't have to, and I'm thinking of the Devil's Hole Gang when I say that. They're too smart to come out in this kind of weather."

"It's a gully-washer for sure," Thatcher agreed. "But I don't agree with you about that gang. They're smart, alright. That's why nobody's caught them, leastways not for long. They do what we don't expect, Mr. Drucker. And if we expect even the crooks to stay in on a night like that, why, they might play us and figure to take your payroll when we think they won't."

"Whatever you say, Sheriff. It is better to be cautious. Even so, I think Heyes and Curry and their gang are hunkered down somewhere nice and warm, far away from here."

"That may be and it may not be. I got me a feelin' they ain't far though." Thatcher turned back to the window, watching the rain as it seemed to come down sideways. "I trust my feelings, and somehow, I feel they's right near by us."

000000

"Do you HAVE to do that in here?"

Kyle Murtree's eyes widened in surprise.

"I gots to spit somewheres, Heyes," Kyle said. "'Sides, you ain't never complained before."

"I've never been cheek to jowl with all of you in a leaky tent before," Heyes replied. "I'm getting wet enough without you spitting tobacco juice in here."

"Well, whose fault is that? Didn't I tell you all the crickets were chirpin'?" Heyes and Curry exchanged a quick, long-suffering glance. Wheat was consistent, if nothing else. "I told y'all a storm was a-comin' and she'd be a humdinger. Ain't that right, Kyle?" Kyle nodded enthusiastically.

"You sure did, Wheat. That's why you got us this tent from that medicine show feller. You said it'd do the trick and you sure was right. We's snug as bugs in a rug. "Cepting for all the leaks, 'course, and they ain't really that bad, are they boys?"

The members of the Devil's Hole Gang all turned to stare silently at Wheat, who coughed a little harder than he needed to. Heyes scratched his chin to hide his smile. Curry let the tension hold for a minute or two, just long enough for Wheat to squirm, before he took pity on the older man and changed the subject.

"At least we're safe enough here and close to Bucktown. I don't think anybody's out looking for us tonight in this weather. And any trails we left are done washed away by now."

"That's true enough," Preacher agreed quickly. He was always the peacemaker in the group. The last thing he wanted was conflict in these tight, uncomfortable quarters. "The thunder's so loud, though, I don't think we'd even hear a shot in the dark. But Heyes, I got to tell you, I'm still some worried. That sheriff in Bucktown knows we been around. He's got to figure we heard about the payroll and we're going to make a run on it."

"That's what I'm counting on, Preacher. They're looking for us to hit the bank. I figure they're spending the whole night there, drinking coffee, trying to stay awake, thinking they're going to surprise us when we break in overnight. But this is the Devil's Hole Gang, and we're successful because we don't do what lawmen expect us to do. They don't expect us to hit the stagecoach in the morning. When we ambush them on the Bucktown Road, they'll be plumb worn out from staying up all night. It'll be like taking candy from a baby. By this time tomorrow night, we'll have $50,000 to split up between us."

Tension melted away as the outlaws leaned back to consider $50,000. Even Wheat's lips curled up reluctantly in a smile that was barely visible beneath his luxurious mustache.

"Time to hit the hay, fellas," Curry said. "Else we'll be too tired to get up on time, and that stage'll go on without us. We'll take turns staying awake to make sure we don't oversleep. By this time tomorrow, we'll be rich."


End file.
